


See you soon

by karcathy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcathy/pseuds/karcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat falls for Nepeta, a famous popstar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See you soon

You’ve always loved Nepeta Leijon’s music, ever since you were a broke college student and she was making a living singing covers in seedy bars. Her poppy outfit and soft folk-y voice and the sheer passion you could hear in every note drew you in, and you knew she was going places. You kept going to watch her sing, and when she started writing her own songs, and selling home-made CDs out of the trunk of her car, you bought every single one. Then a record label found her, and they thought she had real potential, and you knew all along that it wouldn’t take long for her to go global.

 

Now she’s doing concerts all around the world and working on her second album, and you’re starting to wish you’d talked to her whilst you had the chance. Now she’s far too famous and you’re far too insignificant for her to ever notice you, no matter how many concerts you go to and how many interviews you watch. You hardly listen to anything other than her music, whilst you sit at your desk and wish you were anywhere else.

 

You’re hanging around outside the stage doors after a concert, smoking a cigarette and wondering whether you’ll be able to afford tickets for the next one, when the door swings open and a woman wearing a large coat and a fluffy hat, over a skirt so short you can’t even see it, sparkly tights, and killer heels.

“Hey,” you say, nodding hello to her and taking a drag.

“You got a light?” she asks, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and fumbling one out.

“Yeah, here,” you say, taking out your lighter, flicking it on, and holding it out to her.

She lights her cigarette, takes a drag, and sighs.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at you, “I needed that.”

You nod and smile, trying to work out why she seems so familiar.

“These concerts always seem to last at least twice as long as they should,” she says, sighing.

“They’re worth it,” you say, and she smiles.

You stare at her for a moment, and then it suddenly clicks.

“Wait! Oh my god, you’re Nepeta!” you say, nearly dropping your cigarette.

“Yep,” she says, with a little giggle.

“Sorry, I didn’t rec- I mean, I didn’t think they’d-”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts, smiling, “I didn’t want to be recognised. I’m not really supposed to be out here.”

“Sorry,” you say, looking sheepish.

“It’s fine,” she says, smiling reassuringly, “My manager doesn’t like me smoking, but what’s he gonna do?”

You laugh, a little awkwardly, and take another drag.

“So why’d you blow your cover?” you ask, blowing a little smoke ring.

“It’s funny,” she says, looking thoughtful, “It’s almost as if... I feel like I recognise you from somewhere.”

“Oh,” you say, tapping the ash off of the end of your cigarette, “Well, maybe...”

“Maybe what?” she says, looking at you expectantly.

“I was just gonna say... I’ve loved your music ever since you were starting out, singing in that bar, you know, what was it called?” you pause for a moment, trying to remember, “It was... Oh! It was Electric Cowboy!”

“Oh, god, that place!” she says, half-laughing, “It was so awful!”

“You were great, though,” you say, and she smiles modestly.

“So you’ve really been listening to me for all that time?” she asks, and you’re not sure whether it’s just a trick of the light, but you think she might be blushing.

“Yeah,” you say, with an embarrassed smile, “I love your music. I always just...”

“Yes?”

“I just wished I’d had the guts to talk to you when I had the chance,” you say, shrugging, “Well... I guess I’ve got that chance now.”

“I guess you do,” she says, smiling, “Anything you want to ask me? Autograph? I’ll sign your boobs, if you like.”

“No, thanks,” you say, shaking your head, “It’s just nice to talk to you like this. Like you’re just a normal person, you know?”

“It’s nice that someone realises that,” she says, with a slightly sad smile, “Most people don’t.”

“I suppose I still think of you as that girl in that seedy bar I didn’t have the guts to talk to,” you say, half-shrugging.

“I miss being her,” she says, taking a drag on her cigarette, “It was an easier life. She was a better person.”

“You still are her, you know,” you say, tapping your cigarette against the wall, “Every time you sing. You’re still the same.”

“Thanks,” she says, smiling.

You smile back at her, then drop your cigarette on the ground and grind it out with your heel.

“Well, I guess I should go,” you say, lingering next to her, “It was nice talking to you.”

“Thanks,” she says, with a smile, “It was nice talking to you, too.”

You start to walk away, slowly – as if that’ll make this last any longer – and then she says “Wait!” and you turn back to face her.

“I forgot to ask your name!” she says, half-running over to you with a small smile on her face.

“Oh, right. It’s Karkat,” you say, as she reaches you, “Karkat Vantas.”

“Nice to meet you, Karkat,” she says, smiling and holding her hand out to you.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you say, shaking it.

You stand there for a moment, feeling awkward and wondering whether you should leave.

“Well, uh, I should get back inside,” she says, nodding towards the stage door, “But, hey, maybe we could get dinner or... something... some time?”

“That’d be great,” you say, with a huge grin, “When are you free?”

“Um... Tomorrow, I think,” she says, smiling, “Pick you up at eight?”

“Great,” you say, “I know a good place.”

“We’ll go there, then. Where do I pick you up?”

You tell her your address, and you part ways, lingering a little to smile at each other. You’re looking forward to tomorrow night.

 

You get home from work at six the next day, and spend the next two hours alternating between frantically trying to get ready and lying listlessly on your bed. Finally, eight o’ clock comes and your doorbell rings. You scrabble up and dash for the door, nearly tripping over a rug, and pull it open, smiling.

“Hey!” you say, shrugging your jacket on and searching for your shoes, “I’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Hi,” she says, grinning, “Did you have a good day?”

“Eh,” you say, pulling a face and slipping your shoes on, “It was all right. I think it’ll get better, though.”

She gives you a little smile, and you follow her across to her car, which is small and shabby and red and nothing like what you’d thought famous pop stars drove.

“So, where to?” she asks, hopping in behind the wheel and pausing with her hand on the handbrake.

“Okay, well, go straight for a bit.”

She starts up the car, and you direct her to the restaurant, always giving your directions too fast or too slow, and occasionally making her do a U-turn as you realise you went in the wrong direction. It takes you the better part of fifteen minutes to reach the restaurant.

 

“What sort of food does this place do?” Nepeta whispers, as you smile at the hostess.

“Um... It’s an eclectic mixture,” you reply, softly, then add in a normal voice, “Table for two, please.”

“Right this way,” the hostess says, leading you to a candlelit corner table.

You sit down and she hands you both menus, then asks if you’d like to hear the specials. You say no, thank you, you’re fine, and she smiles and leaves. You both open your menus and peer through them.

“Oh, I see what you mean,” Nepeta says, giggling, as she scans the mains.

“Yeah. It’s all good, though. Well, I mean, I think so. I haven’t had everything yet.”

“So you’re planning on trying it all?”

“Most of it,” you say, grinning, and she laughs.

You look back down at your menu and try to decide between the Caesar salad and the crispy aromatic duck.

“It’s a bit late for dinner,” you comment, flicking through to the desserts.

“Oh. I didn’t really think about that,” she says, turning slightly pink, “I’m used to eating at weird hours.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair enough,” you say, and you smile at each other.

“I hope they don’t close too soon,” she says, looking around with a worried expression.

“Don’t worry, they’re open well past midnight,” you reassure her.

“Oh, good.”  
Your conversation is interrupted by a waitress, who wants to know what you’d like to eat. You’ve both chosen something from their strange collection of dishes, so you order, then continue talking.

 

It’s gone midnight by the time you finish your coffee – decaf, or you wouldn’t sleep a wink – and split the bill. You’re a little amazed you spent so long there, but then again, you spent more time talking than eating. Nepeta, you’ve been glad to discover, is as wonderful in person as you think she is on stage, and you feel like you could talk to her for hours and hours. It’s a little strange to find someone whose company you enjoy this much.

 

“This was really nice,” Nepeta says, as she pulls up outside your place.

“It was,” you say, smiling, “We should do it again some time.”

“I think we should, too.”

“Well... do you have a pen?” you ask.

She leans over and rummages through the glove compartment, then grins and hands you a blue biro.

“Okay, well, here’s my number,” you say, scribbling it on an old receipt you found in your pocket, “Call me next time you’re in town.”

“I will,” she says, tucking the piece of paper in her pocket.

“See you, then,” you say, climbing out of the car.

“See you soon!”

She gives you a little wave, then pulls away. You watch her car until it vanishes, then go back inside. You really hope you will see her soon. 


End file.
